I wake up the following morning to an empty house and no mother in sight. And yet I have a feeling of happiness that is connected to m mother. The sensation's so unexpected that I cling to it. The morning sun lights up my room so brightly. The house is quiet, and I take the moment to feel, free. I lie there, staring out my skylight at the winter sky, pondering how on earth this will all turn out.
The sound of footsteps catches my attention, and I push myself to a sitting position to see whose coming. My father's head peeks out first and his face shows instant relief and happiness to see me sitting up.
"Hiccup!" he says. And he rushes over and wraps me in a hug. "Oh thank Thor you're okay!"
He lets go and I look to him confused. "You were asleep for a few weeks. We thought you were a goner."
"A few weeks?!" I shout out of nowhere.
"And I see you found your voice once again." He says, but under his humor he's trying to be careful on what he says. As if he's scared that if he says the wrong thing, I'll go quiet again. And there will be no getting me back.
So I shyly smile to ease him. My first time getting out of bed, so Dad leaves me for a moment to fetch my clothes while I stretch out my limbs. They're stiffer than I imagined. And it takes several minutes of pacing of my room to bring both feeling and flexibility back. I descend the stairs and am welcomed with my favorite breakfast my mom used to always make.
My appetite has returned with my desire to fight back. I swallow the food and soon after, Dad sends me to a bath. I gather my clothes and then disappear into the bathroom. I ease down into the warm water and sit, up to my neck in suds.
After about ten minutes of soaking, I get ready to scrub my hands, and am spooked to find them clean. My heart beats faster. Who cleaned my hands? My mother? No, it can't be. I focus on scrubbing the rest of my body clean and ask question later. Brushing out my hair takes more time since I didn't brush it before I got in. After about twenty minutes, I finally get out and towel myself off.
I change into my clean clothes and when I open the door, I'm greeted by familiar faces. They try to smile at me, but even Ruffnut and Tuffnut can't conceal they shock at the sight of my body. I stand in front of them with only my undergarments on. Revealing all the parts of my body that are burned, and the lumpy scar that I still have from my first day in battle. Strangely, I'm not even that embarrassed.
"Surprise." Astrid says, but she can't hide the pink that blooms under her cheeks.
I look behind them and see Bertha and the seamstresses sitting at our table. I'm puzzling over their reappearance when I realize that this must be it. The day of the execution. They've come to prep me for the crowd.
Dad escorts everyone out, leaving me alone with the seamstresses. Which I'm strangely comfortable with. They want to make some alters to my uniform. Nothing major, just wanting to fit it better for me since it seems I've lost a few pounds. But to do it, they need to alter it while I have it on. And they can barely touch my patchwork of skin for fear of hurting me.
I tell them I hardly notice the pain anymore, but Bertha still winces as he drapes a long vest around me. It reaches down to my knees. I watch as they edit sketches, erase measurements repeatedly, and bicker back and forth on what to do about my scar. They decide to leave it to show the world what Alvin and his lackeys have scarred me in more ways than one.
I'm not so sure if it's the best decision since the sight of it trigger's Bertha's gag reflex. While watching them, I notice something I'm surprised I didn't see before. The pride these women take in their work. It astounds me. Their so passionate. It almost reflects the way I feel about dragons. They've earned more respect from me.
Once I'm Skullette's Dragon Conqueror uniform, the only scars visible are on my neck, forearms, and hands. I'm waiting for them to strap my sheath, but they tell me I'll get it at the arena. So instead, I remember at the last minute, one final addition I want to add to the uniform. I rush upstairs and my eyes focus on the lavender, its petals spread open while I was out. It fills every inch of the room with it's beautiful perfume.
I freeze for a minute then I slowly make my way to the flower. A ray of sunlight has the flower practically glowing. I approach it carefully, then I tentatively trace my fingers along the soft petals. A brief sense of loss and grief send a static shock through my body. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away, and remind myself that today they will be avenged.
Finally.
I carefully take it out of the mug and cradle it with my fingertips. I bring the delicate flower to my nose and inhale the sweet scent. A few tears spill over, scalding my cheeks, and I let out a brief sob. I sniff and wipe my nose with my finger. My hand drifts to the leather pouch I wear with the dirt of Skullette's grave.
I take a deep but shaky breath and sigh as I turn and head back down the stairs.
I find Bertha and the other seamstresses chitchatting together and when they see me with the lavender, they all give me a look that shows that they're touched. "I would like this on my uniform, please." I ask.
Bertha gets up and delicately takes the flower. "Where?" she asks.
My fingers fumble to the necklace. I feel the pouch and find it resting over my heart. "Here." I say and I point. Bertha smiles and looks for a pin.
She secures it to my chest, so it lies right under the leather pouch. The women whisper back and forth, clearly proud of their work, and Bertha flips over a shield so I can see my reflection. I'm genuinely surprised at what they've done. With what I thought was an impossible task, they've done and then added some. They've performed a beauty miracle.
I can't believe how normal they've made me look on the outside when inwardly, I'm a wasteland. I trace my fingers along the stem and petals, then look to her and say, "Thank you."
She smiles and gingerly takes one of m scarred hands and says, "Bless you my child."
We head outside and as I'm adjusting the neckline, I come to find another surprise. Next to Gobber whose talking with Dad. Standing upright, her hands holding one another behind her back, sweeping the dirt back and forth with her foot a she nervously waits. Remarkably unchanged except for the little spark of spirit in her eyes. Compared to mine, vacant.
I walk down the steps, and as I come up to her, she turns and is surprised by my appearance. I'm not too embarrassed since the last time she saw me, I had just helped her rescue her parents. She gives me a soft smile.
"Heather." I say.
"Hi, Hiccup." She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. She rubs my shoulder as she looks at me in my uniform. "Well, looks like you've got a big ahead of you."
I smile and I turn to Dad. But he's already ahead of me. "She's here with her parents to watch Alvin's execution."
I turn back to her. "I wanted to get some closure." She says.
"Weird closure." I say. And almost immediately everyone smiles.
Astrid runs up and hugs me and even does a little squeal. "Oh Hiccup, it's great to hear you talk again." She says, and she even looks like she's on the verge of crying.
I can't help but find the whole situation amusing. I don't speak and now everyone's treating every single word I say like it's a gift from Thor. Dad comes up and places a hand on my shoulder, "It's time, Hiccup."
"Okay." I say back to him.
We all walk together to the arena and while most of the villagers are already there, the rest come and follow close behind me. Excitement and eagerness on their faces. I receive pats and warm words of encouragement. The gate opens and I walk in alone while Dad takes his place after saying good luck.
Everyone gives me their regards as I walk into the slope area before officially entering the arena. Gobber helps me with some last minute adjustments then we hear a tap on the stone and Snotlout steps in. Just the sight of him brings back the painful memory of our attack.
"Gobber, can you give us a minute?" I ask, and he steps out without question. Snotlout's gaze follows him, pleading with him not to go, but Gobber walks past him. One out of sight, Snotlout turns to me, fear in his eyes. A closer look and I can see the skin that rose up when I scratched him. Small bruises with the faintest fingerprints are on his neck.
"I'm sorry." He becomes confused. "About, attacking you."
"No, no you shouldn't be. I, I deserved it." He admits.
"Oh my gods." I say and he turns to me. "I think I just heard hell freeze over." I say and I emphasize by cupping my hand to my ear. This joke manages to draw a chuckle from both of us.
He extends his hand for a handshake, and I'm a little hesitant since he did this for Thawfest. But I take it and we both give each other a firm shake. "Good luck." Then he leaves.
Astrid comes in after him and once she's in front of me, we examine each other. I'm searching for something to hang on to. Some sign of the boy who and girl who met each other in an arena by chance and became inseparable. I'm wondering what would have happened to them if the boy had not joined the war.
If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when brothers and sisters have been raised up, ran off together into the sunset, and left the world forever. Would they have been happy, out in the world, or would the dark twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the war's help?
"I brought you this." Astrid holds up a sheath when I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow.
"The last shot of the war." I mutter, and she nods. I think we all silently agreed that I'd shoot Alvin rather than use his own sword to stab him. I've had more than my fair share of blood splattered on me in one lifetime. "What if I miss? Does Dad retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or do I just stab Alvin in the heart?"
"You won't miss." Astrid adjusts the sheath onto my back.
We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other's eyes. "You never really tried to befriend her." She doesn't answer, so finally I just say it. "Do you even miss her?"
"I don't know." She says. "Does it even matter? You'll always be thinking about it."
She waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it's true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. My silence is my answer.
"Shoot straight, okay?" she says. Then she touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call her back and tell her that I was wrong. That I'll find a way to make peace with this. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who really sent the dragons into the city. Forgive her. But since I can't, I'll just have to deal with the pain.
Gobber comes in seconds after, readying me to usher me into the arena. I collect my bow and at the last minute I remember the arrowhead I received from my Outcast ally. I shift through the hidden pockets and pull it out. Gobber helps me remove the old arrow tip and replace it with the new one. It's a perfect fit.
"Come on." He tells me. "We have an audience waiting."
The arena runs over, spills people around the cage covering. Trying to get the best look they can. Others take their places outside: Guards. Officials. Squad leaders. I hear the cheers that indicate dad has reached the stage. Then Gobber taps my shoulder, I take a deep breath, and step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd.
As directed, I turn so they can see me in profile, and wait. When they march Alvin out of one of the old dragon cages, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary, he's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. No wonder they didn't have me practice. He's ten yards in front of me.
My grip tightens on the grip of my bow. I take a deep breath. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at his chest, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin, polluting his beard. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only the same look of amusement that ended our last conversation.
My eyes flick upward and I see Mildew standing directly behind him. His face has even more pleasure than Alvin's. His little sheep Fungus watching without a care. Mildew holds his staff of dragon teeth proudly, baring a snaggletooth smile. His eyes burn with pleasure at the sight of Alvin perishing. Perishing for his cause.
My heart skips a beat. What did I just say?! Does this mean that I actually believe Alvin?
It's as if he's speaking the words again. "Oh Hiccup. I thought you were a smart boy."
I don't know what to do. My body locks in place, and people wait for me to release the string. My heart speeds up. Then, as if on cue, a soft breeze kicks up. A small petal from my lavender - the size of my pinkie nail - twitches off the flower, rides the wave of wind and makes it way to Mildew.
My eyes widen. It had just brushed past his nose when he swats it away with his bony hand.
"I thought you were a smart boy."
He's right. I am. But I want to get them both at the same time. My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow, and the crowd is growing restless.
The point of my arrow rises and I release the string. The arrow nails him in the skull.
After a gasp of breath, Mildew collapses over the bars of the arena and plummets into the ground of the arena. Dead. Splattering in a pool of his own blood.
In the stunned reaction that follows, I'm aware of one sound. Alvin's laughter. An awful gurgling cackle accompanied by an eruption of foamy blood when the coughing begins. I see him bend forward, spewing out his life.
I grow impatient, then I snatch my knife from its sheath and charge straight for Alvin.
I hear someone call my name, but I block it out. I keep running. I grip my knife with steady fingers. I raise my blade and bury it into Alvin's liver. Blood runs down the hilt and onto my hand. Small splatters land on my uniform, but I don't look.
Instead, I watch as Alvin's eyes become very pale. The color slowly being drained. While guards go to investigate Mildew's lifeless, bloody body, I think of what my brief future as the assassin of a village elder holds.
The interrogation, probable torture, certain public execution. Having to say my final goodbye to the handful of people who still maintain a hold on my heart. The prospect of facing my father, who will now be entirely alone in the world, decides it.
I lean in, close to Alvin's ear, as he helplessly gasps, and whisper, "Good night."
And I feel him go still.